


little black notebook

by Quillium



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, set around early season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: Patrick wakes up to the quiet scratch of pencil against paper and the dim lighting of their backroom. He vaguely remembers David offering him some cold medicine and water before promising to deal with the customers for the rest of the day, and realizes he must have fallen asleep.There’s a coat on him, heavy and warm and comforting, and he knows without looking that it’s David’s.





	little black notebook

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, guys, checklist time. Is it past your bedtime? Go to sleep. Did you drink any water in the past 20 minutes? If not, drink a glass of water. Did you stretch in the past 10 minutes? If not, stretch. If you don't pass the checklist, you can't read this fic. Check all three boxes, then you're free to read.

“I’m hoping that’s your notebook for inventory and budgeting,” Patrick says, leaning against David and slinging his arms over David’s shoulders, “But somehow I get the idea that’s not it.”

“About that,” David shuts the black notebook he’s been writing in, “I thought we already used the computer for that? With the little spreadsheet thing that normal people use for knitting patterns?”

“You knit?”

“No. Yes. That’s not—that’s not the point.”

“You should teach me how to knit sometime.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Why would I make fun of you for knowing something that I don’t? That’s cool, David. Accept the compliment.”

David preens a bit.

“And while Excel really _was_ meant for budgeting purposes, I’m going to let that go.”

“You already finished inventory, right?”

“Yes, but it could be nice if you were double checking.”

“I barely know how to do it, let alone double check.”

“Maybe you could let me teach you?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Just because you’re in charge of the creative aspects doesn’t mean that—wait, you’re agreeing?”

“I mean, why not?”

Patrick blinks owlishly at David, “I mean—of course. Do you want to go over it now or put it off for never?”

“Now is good,” David shoves away his little black notebook.

“Oh—“ Patrick runs through his mind the chances that David’s brain has been hijacked by aliens, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Wonderful,” David beams, “So, those little square thingies, and the money—what’s what? How do you sort it and why isn’t it colour coded?”

“Okay, well, first of all—“

__

“Nine o’clock,” Patrick says, kissing David, “First thing in the morning. Nine o’clock at the _latest_. Eight a.m. is preferable but nine is acceptable.”

“Okay, yes, but—“

“_Nine_,” Patrick kisses David again, “Yes?”

He can see it the moment David gives in, the little pout he gives, the tiny little shake of his head and how his eyes flutter for a moment before he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet and says _fine_ as though the word were being dragged out of him. “Just let me write this down so I don’t forget.”

“You keep a calendar?” Patrick asks, suitably confused and impressed considering David seems to find time and appointment-keeping to be a relative and fluid thing.

“No, not really,” David says and pulls out his little black notebook, the one he never lets Patrick look at, flips a few pages and scribbles something down.

“What is it?”

“Just a random little thing,” David tucks it away and runs his hands up and down Patrick’s arms, “Where were we?”

“Making sure you get here on time.”

“I will, I will,” David leans forward and kisses Patrick’s jaw, “But I think we had some other things to do.”

Patrick smiles into their next kiss, “I guess we do.”

(And he’s still surprised, pleasantly, when David shows up at 9:01 the next morning with coffee, tea, and a sheepish smile.)

__

Patrick wakes up to the quiet scratch of pencil against paper and the dim lighting of their backroom. He vaguely remembers David offering him some cold medicine and water before promising to deal with the customers for the rest of the day, and realizes he must have fallen asleep.

There’s a coat on him, heavy and warm and comforting, and he knows without looking that it’s David’s.

David is drawing something in his notebook, and guessing from the way he occasionally looks up to peer at Patrick, it’s him. He thinks he’s flattered, but he’s mostly fond.

“Oh,” David jumps a bit, like Patrick opening his eyes is comparable to a jump scare in a horror movie, “You’re up! How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Patrick says, because his nausea and the feeling that he might pass out any second have passed, “What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” David says, and raises the tip of his notebook, like he’s scared that Patrick might see what’s inside, “Just—the shop closed up and I was finished with everything so I thought I’d wait for you to wake up.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Patrick sits up, careful to keep David’s coat around his shoulders, and pushes back his shoulders because they’re stiff, “Were you drawing?”

“Uh—yeah. But it’s nothing. You should look over the inventory. And the budget. Because I added stuff to it but I might have done it wrong. I put all the receipts in the receipt drawer, though.”

“I trust you.”

“That is a mistake on so many levels.”

“It isn’t. Besides, you’ve been working on the inventory and budget with me for over a month now. I think you’ve got it in the bag.”

“That sentence puts a lot of trust in me and I don’t know how that makes me feel.”

“Proud. You should be proud of yourself, David.”

“Okay, yes, you’re saying that but you really can’t be sure if I even did it right or not—“

Patrick places his hands on either side of David’s face and waits.

“Um—is this you trying to stop me from spiralling?”

“It’s me trying to get your attention. David. Have faith in yourself. You worked hard, right?’

“Uh, yeah.”

“You double checked?”

“Sure.”

“You think you made no mistakes?”

“I mean, I could have made a mistake that I just didn’t notice—“

“Poor choice of words, sorry. You didn’t notice any mistakes?”

“…No.”

“David, you noticed when I moved one row of moisturizes away to make room for the face masks. I think you’d notice a mistake in the budget, especially when you double check.”

“I might not have.”

“I’ll double check it when we do inventory and budgeting next time, promise.”

“Okay,” David relaxes, “Uh, do you want me to drive you home? Since you’re sick and all?”

“That would be nice,” Patrick admits.

“And is it okay if I—if I stay with you? I’m, like, terrible at taking care of sick people but I’ll—I don’t know—um—bring you water and whatever you ask for and—”

“I would love that,” Patrick says when David trails off awkwardly.

“Cool. Great.”

Patrick smiles.

__

He wakes up to a cool spot on the bed where David should be and an opened little black notebook on his bedside table with a glittery purple pen tucked in the middle.

There’s the clatter and sound of cooking in the kitchen, so Patrick deduces that David’s cooking breakfast, which is sweet. He should thank him.

There’s a lot of writing in the notebook in David’s familiar slanted scrawl but the thing that draws his eye is a little doodle of Patrick, asleep in his bed. There’s the faint, messy sketch of his bed frame and bedside table, and little stars and hearts scattered around it.

“That’s a cute drawing,” Patrick says out loud, enough that it carries to the kitchen.

There’s a faint (extremely loud, easy to hear considering how small Patrick’s apartment is) _oh my god_ before there’s the sound of a pan sliding across the stove (David’s go-to when he was scared that something would burn) and David rushes into the room.

“I thought I closed that!”

“You didn’t,” Patrick takes out the pen and closes it, “Don’t worry, I didn’t read any of it. I just saw the drawing and thought it was cute.”

“Well, it was _not_ cute. It was terrible. And quickly done. And I should—I made omelette with red onions and goat cheese.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“It is. Super delicious. Uh—you don’t—I don’t—sorry about drawing you when you were asleep. I can scribble it out if you want. And—all the other drawings of you.”

“You don’t have to scribble it out,” Patrick bites back a smile, “I liked it. It was cute and well done and I can tell you’re really good at drawing. You don’t have to scribble anything out—but, if you’re alright with it, I would like to see the other drawings of me.”

“Yeah. Right. Of course. Um—do you want to get breakfast first, or—“

“We can eat breakfast and look at the drawings.”

“Yes. Right. That is totally an option. And if you want me to scribble something out—“

“I don’t need you to scribble anything out, David. Unless you drew me nude. In which case, it’s totally fine, but I’d prefer you don’t show that to anyone—“

“Uh, yeah, no, all my drawings have you fully clothed, thanks, except the one where you’re shirtless but you’re pretty clearly wearing my pyjama pants—“

“You have a drawing of me wearing your pants?”

“Just—from the MCU marathon?”

“Oh, when the AC broke and we ate all the ice cream.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just—let me get the eggs. You can wait and—yeah.”

“I’ll make the bed.”

“Yes. Yes. The bed.”

David comes back soon with the omelettes and forks, flipping through a few pages before showing Patrick his drawings. They’re done in different mediums, different qualities, but all of them are nice and Patrick tells David as much.

“Not—not really. I mean, there’s a lot to be worked on and drawing you without asking permission was weird and—“

“It’s fine,” Patrick cuts David off with a kiss, “It’s fine.”

“Right,” David relaxes a bit, “Uh—this is my journal. It’s—it’s okay if you read it.”

Patrick looks at David’s face, tries to read between the lines, “But you’d rather I not?”

“I don’t mind,” David says quietly, fiddling with Patrick’s hands, fingers curling over knuckles, “Because it’s you.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, quietly. _Oh_.

“Yeah,” David says, and clears his throat a bit, “It’s to—it’s to clear my head, mostly. So I don’t get—so I don’t get stressed or anxious or stuck on stuff.”

“I understand if it’s private,” Patrick smoothes a thumb over David’s forehead where it crinkles with worry, “You don’t need to feel forced to show it to me.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see or feel uncomfortable. It’s just—I don’t want you to worry. And I feel like you’d worry or feel bad if you read it.”

“Okay, well,” Patrick kisses David’s forehead, “You know you can tell me if you feel bad, right? Or worried?”

“I know. I just—feel like—I’m already enough of a burden, and I don’t want to be even more of one.”

“You’re never a burden,” Patrick says.

“Okay,” David whispers.

__

Patrick reads it a few weeks later. He buys David a new notebook when the old one is full, solid black with a smooth spine and two golden hearts intertwined on the cover.

David makes a little table for budgeting on the first four pages. He sets aside pages for inventory as well. He starts the journal and sketches on the tenth page.

Patrick makes notes in the journal. Little reminders like _I love you <3_ and _get to store before 9am_. David leaves little messages some mornings, like _buy eggs_ or _date at 12pm y/n_.

On slow days, sometimes David pulls out his notebook and sketches out bits of the store or asks Patrick to stay still so he can draw him.

And maybe it isn’t perfect, but it’s definitely okay. More than okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is your friendly reminder that you are not "behind". Others are not "ahead" of you. You are not defined by your skillset nor the knowledge you have acquired. You are always moving forward, always learning. Take your time, do the things you love, and I promise that you are keeping perfect pace. (That being said, remember to floss because dental hygiene is important and I know _some of you_ are being ridiculous and not flossing.)


End file.
